


Wrapped Around Your Trigger Finger

by sunshinexprincess



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Paris (City), romanogers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24484186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinexprincess/pseuds/sunshinexprincess
Summary: If she had been any other woman, she would have been enchanted by the experience of wearing a two thousand dollar dress while traipsing through the streets of Paris with a close-to-empty bottle of champagne in her left hand and Captain America on her arm.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 7
Kudos: 103





	Wrapped Around Your Trigger Finger

**Author's Note:**

> Had to do it to em. I love this pairing. Definitely not my best work but I had to get this one out of my system lololol

If she had been any other woman, she would have been enchanted by the experience of wearing a two thousand dollar dress while traipsing through the streets of Paris with a close-to-empty bottle of champagne in her left hand and Captain America on her arm.

As it was, she wasn’t any other woman, and therefore she was only mildly affected by said experience. The champagne, however, was exquisite, and it was a shame, she thought, as she took another sip and let the bottle fall to brush against the green silk of her dress, that it was almost gone.

The mission was over, and they had celebrated the early victory by dinner on top of the Eiffel Tower and two of the most expensive bottles of champagne on the menu. She wasn’t sure how many times she’d eaten dinner on top of the Eiffel Tower, really. She had lost count at the number twelve, when she was seventeen and caked with makeup that made her look twenty-five, sent to seduce a man and then carelessly slit his throat in the hotel suite. Needless to say, the place didn’t have many good memories.

But Steve: a soft smile came onto her lips as she glanced over at him, taking in every atom of Paris with a look of glorious awe, had mentioned that he had never been. And so she had declared, hair dripping with water after her fourth wash and wincing from her recent bruises, that he needed to get dressed, because she was taking him on a whirlwind tour of the city before they went back to New York.

Three hours later they were at the best table in Paris, sharing a six course meal and their first bottle of champagne.

And three hours after that, she was, as she had mentioned, traipsing through the streets of Paris with a close-to-empty bottle of champagne in her left hand and Captain America on her arm.

There was something entirely too pure about it. He had, somehow, in the time it had taken her to swipe on blush and mascara and put up her hair, managed to find a bouquet of fresh red roses, greeting her with a cheeky smile and holding out the flowers as she rolled her eyes. And then he had given her his arm, charming and reminiscent of the 40s, and walked her to the Tower, already lit up golden on this Tuesday night. The way he was walking with her now. She looked to their joined arms, laughing at her partner as he snatched the bottle from her hand and took a long sip.

“Smooth, Rogers.” She lay her head briefly on his arm, watching as the light of oil lamps danced in patterns across the cobblestones.

He just grinned, taking another sip and tucking an arm around her waist. “You know, I gotta say, I don’t think much of what I do after this trip is gonna top-“ he waved around the street- “all this.”

Natasha wrapped her arm around him. “I do think I’ve outdone even myself.” She smiled lightly up at his shadowed face. “But you have to take some credit too.” She spun out of his grasp- _maybe a little champagne drunk, just maybe_ \- giggling with a bubbly youth he’d never seen on her but immediately liked.

“You almost make a girl feel special.” She danced carefully out of his reach, laughing as he lunged for her.

“Almost?” He asked incredulously, laughter in his blue eyes as they began to walk again. “Seems like I have some work to do.”

“Nah.” She shook her head and downed the rest of the champagne, the rare playful Natasha locking herself quickly back inside her heart. “Not for a girl like me.” She looked at him and then at their surroundings almost sadly. “This is the closest to a real date I’ve ever been on.”

“Hm.” He pulled her closer subconsciously, smoothing a hand over the small of her back. Every city held a memory for her, he was coming to find out. Brazil, Vienna, London, Beijing, Weisbaden. New York. Paris. Hundreds, if not thousands more. Her mind was a memory book, scenes tucked away like strips of film, five second reels waiting to be played every time a plane landed and she heard a familiar language. He had been learning them all, slowly, every night she came creeping to his room in the compound or in various hotels, murmuring memories until she fell asleep.

So yeah, of course he _knew_ that she had never been on a real date. He just hadn’t thought about it until now.

“If it makes you feel better? Same here.”

“What?” She exclaimed, pulling away and crossing her arms indignantly. “You mean to say that after _all_ that time I spent setting you up with those shield agents-“

“No, Nat I didn’t call a single one.” Steve chuckled as her mouth dropped open.

“ _Why?_ ”

“Well first of all at least half of them were active Hydra agents-“

“We didn’t know that at the time,” she interrupted, pointing a finger at him. “Doesn’t count.”

“And,” he continued with an amused smile, “they probably wouldn’t react well to me sleeping with my partner every night.”

“Touche.” She smiled, looping her arm through his again. “But I can easily go to someone else.”

She didn’t mean it, of course she didn’t. But she would be damned if she was the thing holding him back from the happiness he deserved. She could endure sleepless nights if he would get that old spark back, the one she saw the first time they worked together in 2012.

“Like who, Thor?” He raised his eyebrows.

She looked forward with a smile, shaking her head. “Shut it Rogers.”

“Nat.” God damn his honey sweet voice. She leaned into his shoulder, this time not pulling away. “I’m happy where I am, right now, drinking ridiculously expensive champagne with my best friend.” The last words hung in the air, waiting to be reclaimed and replaced with something else.

They weren't. 

Her smile widened, and she closed her eyes and sighed deeply, the bottle still brushing against her dress with a soft _swish_. “Me too."

She felt his breath catch, his muscles tightening against her temple.“Do you mean that?”

She nodded. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

Paris really was beautiful. She had known it was, of course. It had been beautiful every time she went: in winter snow, in full spring bloom, in summer heat, in autumn when the entire city turned red and gold like fire. It was just one of those things she knew, like how she knew that Tony liked his margaritas blended and Wanda made scones when she was stressed. Paris was beautiful. It was just a fact.

Everything caught his fancy like a five year old in a toy store. The hot chocolate and croissant breakfasts, the fact that wine came free on the tables and that it tasted better than any bottle New York had to offer, how cozy and small the hotel rooms were, the smell of flowers and bread on every corner. And yet even on his first day in the city he strolled through the streets like a local, speaking French with a perfectly practiced accent. It had, of course, been part of training, not his personal choice, but damn did French sound good on his lips.

“Hm. You almost make a guy feel special.”

And suddenly she was laughing, harder and louder than she had in years, stumbling slightly in her stilettos on a dim-lit Paris street like a ditsy college girl on spring break. It felt indescribably _good_ , one of those moments where life felt like that impossible word:

normal.

“Use my own words against me huh?” She punched his arm lightly. “I’m disappointed in you.”

He chuckled, the sound sending warmth into her like she was soaking in a warm bath. A hazy quiet fell again, echoes of faint conversations drifting from open restaurant doors and their shoes clicking on the stones. Yes, she thought, everything _did_ truly feel like that impossible word. Normal.

She found that she liked it a lot more than she thought she would.

____________

She wasn’t quite sure when they made it back to the hotel, but they had ended up there all the same, lounging on his bed looking out the small window into the city. It might be even prettier from this view, she found herself thinking, ankles crossed lazily and her creamy skin glowing in the soft lamplight. Maybe it was the atmosphere; her and Steve, sipping on a third bottle of champagne in comfortable silence, watching as the city slowly went to sleep with each light flickering off.

If she had been slightly drunk during the walk back she was _definitely_ drunk now, but personally, she thought she deserved it. The mission had gone off so smoothly she had thought- and she knew Steve had too- that something was very, very wrong. But when Nick had called to tell them that the mission was indeed over and to enjoy the rest of their stay in Paris instead of demanding them back in New York immediately, they hadn’t wasted time asking any questions.

It felt like a movie, one of those idiotic rom coms Tony and Bruce and Clint would “secretly" hunker down in the rooftop lounge to watch, full of roses and cheap champagne and picnics and love triangles and dancing in the rain, ending it all with a passionate kiss as the credits began to roll.

“What?”

She looked at Steve, realizing that she had been murmuring the words aloud. She smiled, knocking her head playfully into his chest before sipping the champagne and handing him the bottle.

“Just feels like a movie you know? Paris, roses, champagne. Only thing that would make it a real Hallmark hit would be dancing in the rain.”

“Well,” he shrugged, “we could call Thor. Arrange that pretty quickly.”

She froze, hitting him square in the stomach when she saw his familiar cheeky smile, telling her that he wasn’t serious. “Go to hell,” she said fondly.

He laughed, the deep and soothing one that made her want to fall asleep right then and there, pulling her into his side and then releasing a heavy breath.

“If I could give you that Nat,” he smoothed a hand over her hair, fingers dancing through the tendrils of her bun, “I would. If only to let you know that you deserve it.”

She sighed into his chest, an ocean of overwhelming love drowning her nerves. She hadn’t felt this, this goddamn _flood_ of feeling since Clint had first brought her to SHIELD, a light hand at her back keeping her grounded throughout the interviews, tests, and medical exams. And with Steve. . . it was dangerously multiplied.

She used to kick herself about it, especially the first few nights she had shown up nervously at his bedroom door. The Black Widow wasn’t supposed to be weak, and she certainly wasn’t supposed to need someone to fuck her senseless and then whisper little sweet nothings into her ear so she could fall asleep.

But she did. And after a few weeks, and several late nights shaking in Steve’s arms as she fell into the endless, gaping pit of self-self-deprecation that she always seeming to be balancingjust on the edge of, she had finally accepted it.

“You’re something else Steve Rogers,” she murmured, chastely kissing his shoulder.

“No.” He shook his head. “Just a guy who wants his best friend to know she’s worth a hell of a lot more than she thinks.”

She grinned as she leaned up to kiss him deeply, setting the bottle on the windowsill after she slipped it easily from his hand.

“Secret?” She asked into his mouth as he lay her down gently on the cream sheets.

“Anything.”

She closed her eyes and fell into the lull of his kisses on her neck. “Roses are my favorite.”

Outside, it began to rain.


End file.
